


A Little More Lifelike

by Siren_whispers



Category: Glee
Genre: Brotherhood, F/M, Family, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Finn Hudson Lives, M/M, Parenthood, Step-Brothers, Step-siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:02:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23795077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siren_whispers/pseuds/Siren_whispers
Summary: The Hummel-Hudson (Hudmel) family are a newly blended family and sometimes things happen.A series of largely unconnected one-shots that aren't necessarily going to be in chronological order.  Some will be episode related, some won't.
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel, Carole Hudson-Hummel & Finn Hudson & Burt Hummel & Kurt Hummel, Carole Hudson-Hummel/Burt Hummel, Finn Hudson & Kurt Hummel, Rachel Berry/Finn Hudson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 70





	1. Prom queen

Finn found it weird at first, living with the Hummels, but it wasn’t long before he got used to it. Kurt making breakfast on the weekends for him didn’t hurt. Sure, he definitely still put his foot in his mouth more often than he probably should have, but he and Kurt were getting along and he had a lot in common with Burt. Kurt and Carole got a long maybe a little too well, and Finn had this sense of dread, a feeling in the pit of his stomach that insisted they were plotting  _ something _ together. But, oddly enough, he didn't mind it. 

Finn would like to think of himself as a good brother, but there were instances where he had to doubt that. They weren't the moments where he said the wrong things and his mum chided him and Kurt either laughed or scowled back, his response seemingly chosen at random. No. They were the moments where he missed things, the moments that mattered. 

* * *

Finn hadn't missed the look on Burt's face when his mum and stepfather came to pick him up from prom early. He could barely see past his own burning anger, but even in the moment he couldn't look past the difference in their faces. His mum looked angry, disappointed, concerned, confused--Finn hated how often she looked at him with the combination of emotions written plainly across her face--but Burt looked  _ blank.  _

__ It wasn't an uncaring blank. It was a surprised blank. Like he couldn't trust his surroundings or the scenario. He looked around Finn rather than at him and maybe it took Finn a moment but he managed because, slow as he may be, he wasn't oblivious, wasn't stupid, wasn't blind. 

Burt had been so nervous about letting them leave for prom with Kurt's hand wrapped around Blaine's, legs covered by leggings and a kilt, so unapologetically and fearlessly himself. Burt knew at least some of the things his kid went through on a daily basis, knew that Kurt kept a lot of it from him to quell the worry and the ire Burt openly harboured, knew that the words spat over the phone probably hurt more when they were spat to his face,  _ knew that they were definitely spat to his face.  _

He was looking at Finn (or not looking at Finn) the way he was (or wasn't) because he couldn't believe that out of the three kids he had sent to prom, Finn was the one coming home early. 

* * *

  
  


When Kurt and Blaine made their way to the front door of the Hummel-Hudson household Finn was waiting in the living room. He had been seething on the sofa since he got home, having anger-eaten about half a batch of cookies and a litre of coke straight from the bottle. When Kurt and Blaine walked into the living room he thought nothing of it: rumpled lapels, red cheeks, slightly swollen lips were all fairly self explanatory. 

But it didn't take long to notice something else. 

"You weren't running for prom King," Finn said it plainly, the burning in his chest suddenly extinguished, replaced with a fluttering sense of worry. 

"I wasn't," Kurt spoke plainly back, face schooled into the picture of calm, tone as plain as Finn's own. Still, he didn't miss the way the words wobbled. The golden plastic crown on Kurt's head sat slightly skew-whiff and the sceptre in his hand trembled slightly. He looked like he was trying very hard to stay put together but there were cracks in his demeanor. Finn didn't miss them. 

"What the hell happened then?"

"You're looking at Mckinley High's junior prom queen," he tried to say it with humour. He tried so hard. Blaine squeezed his hand. 

There was a beat of silence. 

"If I find out Karofsky had anything to do with this I'm gonna fucking murder him," the anger was back but stronger. 

"He didn't," the voice was deeper than Kurt's and seemed almost grudging to admit that Karofsky wasn't at fault. Blaine grit his teeth. 

"It was a prank, standard fag-fare," Finn hated that Kurt called it that. He'd used the word before but after living with Kurt it sounded wrong, like nails on a chalkboard. Even when Kurt said it in His sweet-sounding voice. Blaine frowned at that too, squeezing Kurt's hand tighter. Regardless of how Finn felt about Kurt's terminology, he knew it wasn't that. Kurt usually dismissed that, grit his teeth, but his tongue and made sure everyone else who had heard or witnessed it was fine. He was desensitised to the "standard". He wasn't desensitised to this.

Finn breathed in deeply through his nose. He could vaguely smell alcohol on Blaine and Kurt. Puck must have gotten around to spiking the punch after Finn left. He couldn't believe he'd missed this over his girl problems. He'd missed the opportunity to comfort his brother. 

"You accepted the crown," it was a simple fact, one of the few things Finn knew he could say at that moment without snapping. 

"Not eagerly," Kurt bowed his head, "I ran out of the room and Blaine ran after me," it went unsaid that no one else did and the anger in Finn only flared "and I wasn't going to let them ruin my night," it seemed like they had but Finn kept his mouth shut "so we went back in and I accepted the crown," 

"Karofsky wouldn't dance with him, so I did," Blaine hadn't spoken much, like he was letting Kurt control the narrative. 

"We won," Kurt told him but he didn't sound convinced and, as much as Finn wanted to argue, it didn't seem right. 

"Good job," Finn just patted him on the shoulder, letting his hand linger and squeeze. The fabric of Kurt's blazer was nice, he realised, far less scratchy than his own which he had peeled off like it was full of wasps as soon as he was thrown out of the dance. 

"I'm going to get changed," Kurt told them both, striding up the stairs two at a time "I don't want to wrinkle my clothes," Finn didn't mention the rumpled lapel,"

Finn expected Blaine to follow after him but he stayed put in their living room. Finn had seen him there hundreds of times, curled up on the sofa with Kurt or dancing in front of the TV as Kurt giggled, but he had never seen a person look more out of place. "We need to talk," Blaine said "I think he'll be up there for a while: I don't even know how to get some of the things he's wearing off," if it was any situation other than this and involved anyone other than his brother Finn would have made a joke about why he might have been trying to figure that out. 

Instead he left that alone. 

"What do we need to talk about?" Finn knew even before he asked it that it was a stupid question but he had to say something. 

"He doesn't make it easy for himself," Blaine ran his fingers through his hair as he sat heavily on the couch. It barely moved. "It was never going to be easy and I don't want him to try to be anyone else, I just wish he'd recognise that people aren't going to like it--I wish he wasn't so optimistic,"

"He knows," Finn wasn't stupid, he didn't always catch the way that Kurt's teeth grinded against each other, the way his upbeat expression became a little more waxy, the more caustic tone his words took on, but he didn't always miss them either. He knew that as much as Kurt brushed off the words they always stuck in at least a little. "Everyone here makes sure he knows and doesn't forget--Hell I used to--and I really don't think he's optimistic about anything, not really. Everyday it's phone calls or being pushed into lockers or thrown in dumpsters or threats or insults or slushies or the odd brick through the window. He's just trying to be optimistic because otherwise he has to be miserable," Finn didn't know maths or history or Spanish or girls but he did know family and music. And Kurt was tied to both. 

"He just-" Blaine sighed and Finn sat down next to him "He just brushes everything off until he can't and then he doesn't know what to do. I bet you don't know about some of the things that happen to him because he won't speak about them. Karofsky threatened his life and he's already back. I bet you don't know half of that story either,"

"What do you know that I don't?" 

"I can't tell you but that's part of the problem. It's all part of the problem. He doesn't mention things, he keeps Karofsky's secrets at his own sacrifice-" 

"What secrets?" He asked desperately but he went ignored. 

"Even when he does tell none of it gets taken seriously. Like time after time the world is proving that you can do whatever you want to Kurt Hummel and you'll get away with it," 

Finn wanted to ask about Karofsky again, wanted to know what Kurt was hiding from him, but before he got the chance to press Kurt came walking down the stairs. His footsteps were muffled by the thick socks he was wearing alongside soft, loose flannel trousers and a too-big t-shirt that had once been Finn's. He remembered giving Kurt that shirt when he saw the silk pyjamas he usually wore and felt like he should have a more comfortable option. He rarely wore it. 

"I heard that," he didn't sound angry or annoyed and he walked straight into Blaine's arms.

"You aren't arguing," Finn watched the back of his head, not missing the calming movements of Blaine's hands on his brother's back. 

"Can't," his voice was muffled as he spoke into Blaine's shirt, "Don't tell cos it's stressful," Kurt always was more concerned about Burt than himself, "and either way nothing happens," it was then that Finn realised he was crying and he couldn't do anything about it. Blaine pulled him somehow closer and Finn just watched from the other side of the room, hands hanging lamely by his sides, unable to do anything at all. 

"I'm going to tell Burt," Finn decided and, as he crossed behind Blaine to walk up the stairs, Kurt lifted his head, watery eyes full of betrayal. He shook his head gently and a tear dislodged itself from his eyes, rolling down his smooth, porcelain cheek. "If I tell him," he stopped right before Kurt, looking him directly in the eyes "He might agree to let Blaine stay with you instead of on the couch," 

"Oh," 

"It's junior prom but we all know nothing will happen after this," Kurt giggled into the fabric of Blaine's shirt. It was weak but Finn decided it was a good sign regardless. 

He bounded upstairs and gave Burt and Carole a quick rundown of the story, getting out as much of what little information he had before Burt's anger pulled him to his feet. 

"That fucking principle," he growled and Finn recoiled a little. He didn't remember having ever heard Burt swear before, "He doesn't do anything to help my kid or keep him safe, he didn't have to read that name, he didn't have to allow write-in votes!" Carole had her hands on his shoulders but they weren't doing much. 

"He's not going to want to speak to us," Carole's voice was soft and it never failed to calm Finn down. Burt deflated a little but his face was still flushed red and the curve of his lip still screamed murder. 

"Tomorrow," Burt conceded with a huff "Thank you for telling me Finn, we all know Kurt wouldn't have. And tell Blaine that he can stay with Kurt tonight but we aren't making a thing out of it," 

"It's a special circumstance," Carole restated "So don't you dare try to use this as a bargaining chip," Finn honestly hadn't even been considering it. Maybe he would when he wasn't so focused on how pissed off he was. 

"And the door stays open!" Burt insisted as Finn left the room. 


	2. Sleepover

Burt and Carole had left for the weekend for a work conference a couple of cities over they decided they may as well turn into something of a vacation. They booked a hotel that was considerably nicer than the motels Burt usually stopped for a night in on these trips and told Kurt and Finn they would be back on Monday. Before they left on Friday they laid down a few ground rules: no parties, no Blaine or Rachel (Kurt and Finn shot a look at each other on that one, Burt and Carole didn't miss it), no trashing the house, no cooking if your name is Finn Hudson, make sure you call us if something happens and when we call to check in on you make sure you pick up. 

They agreed and Burt added "We're serious about no boyfriend or girlfriend when we're not here!" before he and Carole slipped out of the door. 

It was a Friday evening and Friday nights were meant to be for family dinners so without their parents, Finn and Kurt didn't really know what to do.

The TV was on, Kurt was tucked into the corner of the sofa and Finn was sprawled across the rest of it. The cushions had been knocked onto the floor but Kurt couldn't really bring himself to care. The TV played an old episode of a sitcom that neither of them were watching but the voices in the background made the room feel a little less empty. 

"We're bad teenagers," Finn decided as the episode ended and an ad for some dodgy medication or other began on the TV, far too upbeat for what it was. Kurt looked up from his phone, his fingers still flying across the keyboard for a moment after his eyes left it. He made a small gesture with it "I'm texting my boyfriend and ignoring my surroundings. I'd argue that's very teenaged of me," 

"But it's booooring," Finn managed to dramatically slump himself down further into the upholstery. 

"For you, maybe. But I'm entertained. Why don't you text Rachel?" 

"Her dad's took her into the city to see some show and her phone is off," 

"What about your friends?" 

"They're actual teenagers with actual things to do on a Friday night," Finn picked up his phone, looked over a few old texts for a moment and then looked back up at Kurt with a look that was definitely asking something of him. "You're my friend, right?" 

"I'm your brother," 

"Which makes us friends," 

"For all intents and purposes, I guess," 

"So we should  _ do  _ something," 

"Do what, Finn?" Kurt cocked an eyebrow "we live in cowtown and I'm pretty sure the only people free are Mercedes and Blaine--which is great for me but not so great for throwing a party," 

There was a pause and then "We could make a den out of pillows and things, have like a sleepover on the floor!" 

"You were just complaining about us not being good teenagers and now you want us to act like ten-year-olds? Also we live together, what's the point in having a sleepover?" but Finn was bouncing in place, face alight with that bright, puppy-like excited expression he seemed unable to outgrow. "Ugh. Fine," he relented, much faster than he would care to admit. Finn was good at puppy eyes and Kurt didn't really have a real reason to say no. "The cushions are all on the floor anyway," 

As far as Kurt Glares went, his jokingly accusatory one was quite low down on the list: right above the one he gave Blaine when he insisted on being joined at the hip, right below the one he gave Finn when he sacked on the dough when Kurt was baking. Still, Finn hunched his shoulders and smiled nervously. Kurt responded with a single breathy bark of exasperated laughter. 

"You get started," Kurt told Finn, secretly hoping that the other boy knew how to do this because Kurt had never done this before, "I'm going to get changed quickly," and Finn wanted to say "good" because he had no idea how Kurt could even sit down in jeans that  _ tight,  _ but he just nodded instead and went to grab the blankets and clothes pegs from the airing cupboard. He pushed aside the coffee table and, with the practiced ease earned through many a sleepover with the boys, Finn began to prop and pile the couch cushions and blankets into a semi stable den with the help of a few pegs and dining room chairs. He could hear Kurt moving around on the floor above him and the static-y sitcom was still playing. He reached for his ipod and put on the playlist he knew both he and Kurt would approve of. It was a nice midpoint between their wildly differing tastes. Finn remembered carefully curating it together in the backseat of the car on a long trip with their parents. 

Kurt emerged from upstairs about halfway through the fifth song. Finn was expecting him to be wearing those silk pyjamas he usually wore but instead he was wearing a pair of too-big sweatpants rolled up a few times at the bottom over fluffy socks. He was wearing a hoodie that almost definitely wasn't his and his hair had been missed and flattened and he hadn't bothered to fix or wash it. Finn grinned when he saw it, like Kurt was letting himself look human and unpolished in front of him as if they were actually brothers. 

"You look comfortable," Finn's grin widened. 

"Shut it," Kurt glared, higher up on the scale than his last one but fleeting and quickly replaced by a small smile as he saw what Finn had been working on. "So, what are we doing?" 

"Making a den," Finn said like it was obvious. Maybe it was. 

Kurt winced, "And what exactly does that entail?" 

There was a beat and then a slightly disbelieving "You've never made one before?" 

"This isn't what I do at sleepovers," 

"Then what do you do?" 

"Face masks, makeovers, talking about boys, and karaoke, I guess," 

"We'll, I mean, if you want we can do some of that too--and I'll teach you how to build a den," 

"Finn Hudson is going to teach me how to build a den and then play a game of 'fuck marry kill' with a face mask on?" 

"Wait a minute, you and all the glee girls--including Rachel--actually play that?" 

"It can be quite divisive," Kurt grinned slyly in a way that Finn couldn't decipher and didn't really care to. 

"Do you play it with celebrities or people you actually know?" 

The grin widened. "Why not both?" 

"And what does everyone think of us?" Finn asked, absentmindedly playing with the blanket in his hands. Kurt just tapped his nose and winked. 

With Finn's expertise, it didn't take them very long to finish the den that took up a large portion of the living room floor. It took a lot of layers of blankets and pillows to make hardwood comfortable, even with the large rug on top of it, which Finn knew from experience, so they essentially exhausted the entire supply of blankets and duvets in the house aside from the ones on Burt and Carole's bed. The music was still playing but the TV had been turned off a while ago.

"So what are we meant to do  _ in _ the den?" Kurt asked "Or is the fun just making it then destroying it" 

"We destroy it in the morning," Finn said matter-of-factly, "Until then we sit inside it, maybe play a few video-games, truth or dare, we also talk about sex a lot--mostly Puck--but you're my brother and I'd really rather not find out I can't sit in the backseat of your car anymore or something," Kurt tried not to flush at all when Finn said that; worse things could have happened in the backseat if the navigator than what had, but Finn maybe wouldn't see it that way. It seems he failed. "Ugh, dude. Gross," 

"Don't call me dude," Finn held up his hands in mock surrender and the two of them crawled on their hands and knees into the den. 

"So," Kurt clapped his hands together "Where do we start? I can run up to my room and grab some face masks and we'll do something else while we wait for them to dry?" 

"Sounds good," 

So Kurt left and returned a couple of minutes later with some sort of product in hand alongside two strips of fabric. Finn eyed them with a trace of confusion until his stepbrother was wordlessly placing one over his head. 

"To keep your hair out of the way," Kurt explained simply as he unscrewed the lid of the pot and procured a brush from the pocket on the front of his hoodie. "I don't suppose you've ever done one of these before?" 

"Ummmm, no," 

"Okay, this might feel a bit weird then," and, with that, the green goop from the pot was being smeared on Finn's face and it definitely did feel  _ weird.  _ Kurt disappeared upstairs again to put things away and returned with a little handheld mirror and his own face covered in the same product as Finn's. 

"You look ridiculous," Finn laughed. 

"He says as if he doesn't look the same," Kurt giggled as he passed the mirror across to Finn. He looked at his own face--painted green--and pulled a few faces, hyper-aware of how the drying goop started to crack. Kurt giggled a little more. "Shuffle next to me," Kurt told him, shifting his phone between his hands "take a picture with me; something to send to Blaine and Rachel," 

"No!" Finn was still laughing "that's embarrassing," 

"That's very much the point, Finn," 

"So you send Blaine embarrassing things on purpose? That doesn't seem like you," 

"It's not like he doesn't send me the most goody, ridiculous selfies as well. Do you know how many times Rachel has ummed and awed about sending you stupid pictures from our sleepovers? She might debate less if you sent her some in kind," 

"Is this a bad idea?" Finn asked but still smiled and posed for the picture which Kurt quickly sent to him before doing anything else with it. Finn sent it to Rachel with a "<3" as he heard Kurt tapping out a more substantial message rk Blaine on his own phone. "Her phone's off," Finn remembered. 

Kurt shrugged. "A nice surprise for when she turns it back on," he smiled at his own phone as it pinged, typing out another message. "Should we put phones away now?" Finn nodded and switched his off, watching Kurt do the same. 

"Do you wanna play truth or dare?" 

"Fine by me, then we can go wash these off," Finn twitched his face experimentally again, finding it harder to move than it had been when it had first been applied.

"Okay. Guess I'll start," 

Kurt waited a moment "Well, are you going to choose?" 

"You have to ask the question," 

"Why? You already know what it is?," 

"It's just how you play the game," Finn insisted, so with a sigh and an affectionate eye roll, Kurt complied. 

"Truth or dare?" Finn chose dare and ended up running a lap of the block in the cold, drizzling rain with a face mask and a headband on to complete the look. He was sure he got some interesting looks through some of the windows he happened to pass by. 

"Truth or dare?" Finn asked, and when Kurt chose truth he followed that with "Hey, coward! That's not fair!"

"It's literally the game, Finn. Ask me a question," 

"Fine," he relented. 

When they had tired of their games and washed the masks off of their faces they just lay on the floor, blankets piled both on top of and beneath them eyes trained on the fabric draped above them as they just spoke about nothing and everything and all the things they usually did and all the topics they left alone. 

"You know," Kurt said with regret lacing his voice "I don't think I ever apologised for how I acted last year," He felt an awful lot like he was picking a scab--like that was a wound well on its way towards being forgotten and healed--but it wouldn't stop itching so he couldn't help scratching. And maybe the wound would bleed a little again but the itch would be gone. "I really am sorry. It was completely inappropriate and I really should have left you alone,"

"Dude, it's fine," and for once Kurt didn't feel like correcting him, "You weren't right but neither was I. I'm sorry too," 

"But you've already said sorry," Kurt insisted, sinking down into the neckline of the warm jumper. Finn didn't know what else to say on the topic so instead he changed it after a simple "We'll, you've said it now," He looked at the thick maroon fabric Kurt was snuggled in, hood pulled up over his hair, and drew what he believed to be a pretty obvious conclusion. "That's Blaine's, right? I love it when Rachel steals my clothes, but it must be different being able to swap things," 

"It is nice," Kurt mused with a soft smile "but we wear basically the same sizes so we don't get the same effect as Rachel does when she wears your clothes," 

"But you both get to wear each other's things! That seems great!" 

"Who would ever want to wear one of Rachel Berry's reindeer sweaters?" 

They were drifting into a drowsy nearly asleep state, the music still playing only quiet now. Then Finn spoke. 

"Can we do one more set of truths?" He asked, voice slurred slightly. 

"Sure," Kurt's voice was quieter and lower than usual, Finn noticed. It seemed he wasn't the only one who was about to drift off. 

"So what have you and Blaine done in the back of the nav?"

"Finn!" 


	3. Grandma

“Don’t forget,” Kurt’s dad stopped him on the bottom step before he could go upstairs to bed, “Finn’s grandmother is coming over tomorrow and you said you’d make brunch for everyone,”  
“Yes!” Finn made a celebratory gesture by pumping his fist in the air a couple of steps ahead of Kurt, “I love Nana, she always brings the best gifts,”  
“Whoopee,” Kurt mumbled without enthusiasm. He had definitely forgotten. He sulked up the stairs, fully intending to go directly to his bedroom and call Blaine before he fell asleep. But Finn stopped him on the landing.

“You don’t sound excited,” he looked down at Kurt like he always did, sounding as accusatory as he could manage whilst still being Finn Hudson.  
“What do you mean,” Kurt feigned ignorance, “I can’t wait to be judged by an old lady I’ve never met,”  
“You did meet her,” Finn reminded, “At the wedding,”  
“For about 10 seconds,”  
“Besides,” It was like Finn was choosing to ignore him, “She won’t judge you. I don’t know why you think she’ll judge you,”  
Kurt rolled his eyes because, as obvious as it was, this was Finn he was talking to, “Finn,” His hands were on his hips, “Old people aren’t usually that fond of me,”  
“Why?” He cocked his head like a confused puppy and Kurt couldn’t believe he was still managing to miss it, “You’re really polite when you want to be. And well-spoken. Old people love that crap!”  
“Is your grandmother blind?” Kurt cocked an eyebrow, “And deaf? If not, I don’t think polite and well spoken is covering this,” He made a vague gesture at himself and he could see the flicking of the lightswitch behind Finn’s eyes.  
“Oooooh,”  
“Oh,” Kurt agreed,  
“Well you can cover that can’t you? Dress like you’re working with your dad, talk a little lower,”  
“Finn,” Kurt sounded stern and, oh, Finn had done that thing where he’d shoved his foot into his mouth. Again. “Also, do you really think your grandmother will be impressed if I show up covered in motor oil and grease stains,”  
“Good point. Really though, I don’t know why you’re worrying. She’s gonna love you,” Kurt wasn’t quite convinced. Kurt stepped past Finn to get to his bedroom door. Finn turned somewhat clumsily on his heel. “Your dad said something about brunch?”  
Kurt laughed. “Go to bed Finn,”

* * *

Burt and Carole left early to drive to the airport to pick Carole’s mum up. She had an early flight from Texas. Kurt was just walking down the stairs, pyjama clad, to fetch himself a cup of coffee as they were leaving. Burt sent him another reminder as he shut the front door, as if there was any way the dread building in the pit of Kurt’s stomach would let him forget. He had to make brunch for a woman who was probably going to hate him. He was stressing about the meal so much he burnt the coffee. It tasted more sour than pleasantly bitter but he gulped it down anyway. Finn wouldn’t care; he took his morning coffee with so much cream and sugar it almost definitely didn’t taste like coffee anymore.  
After his second cup he opened all the curtains downstairs so the pastel-colours of the light from the sunrise could fill the house in an attempt to make it feel welcoming and then headed upstairs to get dressed before he started cooking. He wanted to look presentable even if that would almost certainly make the situation worse for him. He dressed as subtly as he ever did whilst still feeling assured that he looked like himself--tight, neatly-pressed trousers, a large leather belt with an ornate gold buckle, a black and white short-sleeved dress shirt with little birds printed across it evenly, and a striped monochrome ascot tucked neatly around his neck. He slipped his slippers back on. It was rude to wear shoes in the house, not that Finn ever cared. He eyed the flannel shirt that was tucked into the corner of his overstressed wardrobe. His dad had given it to him; he only ever wore it to work but, aside from the cuffs of the sleeves, it had managed to escape grease stains. He shook his head and decided to forgo it.  
  
He was busy manning the stove, flipping pancakes and making sure the bacon didn’t burn, when Finn came downstairs, bleary=eyed and with his hair flying every which way. He yawned as he reached for his mug and Kurt had to suppress the urge to chastise him for failing to cover his mouth. Finn filled about half of the chipped mug with coffee and the other half with cream even though the coffee would definitely be lukewarm by now and adding the cream would only make it colder. Four teaspoons of sugar later (of which maybe a quarter ended up on the countertop rather than in the mug), he deemed it satisfactory and walked towards Kurt. He tried to subtly steal a piece of the bacon Kurt was about to remove from the pan but subtlety had never been his strong point. He got a stern smack with the spatula instead.  
“Hey!” he rubbed his hand even though it didn’t hurt, “I’m hungry,”  
“You can wait,” Kurt plated the bacon and the pancakes before picking up the egg carton, “You won’t die in the next ten minutes,”  
“Feels like it,” Finn grumbled as he conceded, leaning back against the counter on the opposite side of the room to Kurt. Kurt moved away from the stovetop for a moment, leaving the eggs to fry as he sipped on a cold glass of orange juice. Finn eyed it, suddenly aware of just how dry his mouth and throat were. He gulped down his coffee and as soon as he put the mug down a glass appeared in front of his face, “Thanks dude,”  
“Don’t call me dude,” Kurt was saying it just to say it. They both knew that. “So what’s your Nan actually like?” Kurt wiped his hands on the front of his apron after dishing up the last of the food. He untied it and folded it carefully, placing it next to Carole’s. The plates of food were lined up neatly, the things Kurt had used to cook stacked neatly in the sink. Finn knew he would be told to wash it up later.

  
As if on cue the front door creaked open and Burt called out, “Boys, we’re back,” Kurt took a deep breath and tried to fix his already impeccable hair.  
Then there was an unfamiliar voice. “And I brought gifts!” It was high and distinctly southern in that sweet way that made Kurt’s teeth hurt and his hair stand on end. He stayed by the stove for a moment, breathing deeply and steeling himself as Finn dashed to the entrance of the home with reckless abandon. There was a noise like air being knocked out of the old lady’s lungs and Kurt figured that it might be a good idea to appear whilst she was being smothered by Finn’s gargantuan frame embracing her.  
He shuffled to Burt’s side to be greeted by an arm thrown around his shoulder in that firm yet caring way his dad had perfected. Carole squeezed his hand like she could tell it was slightly shaky before she even touched it. Kurt took another deep breath and Finn finally released his giggling Granny.  
She was short in stature, all soft, round shapes, deep and distinct laughter lines and crow's feet perhaps indicative of her temperament. Her white hair was crocodile-clipped into place on the back of her head, thin lips painted shimmery pink and cheeks made rosy with makeup. There was a smudge of mascara underneath her left eye but the dark around her eyes just highlighted how sparklingly blue they were. She looked kind enough.

  
“Oh, Kurt,” She left Finn’s side and beelined to Kurt’s, barely reaching his shoulder. Finn’s height must have come from his dad’s side of the family. “It’s so nice to see you again--hopefully I’ll get to speak to you properly this time,” Kurt held out his hand for her to shake and tried to smile convincingly. She took his hand but took him off guard when she tugged, drawing him into a hug and planting a kiss on his cheek. It left a sticky residue he was quick to wipe away, “So formal,” She tutted, looking him over in a way that made him feel insecure. He liked to think he’d long since mastered the art of not giving a fuck what other people thought of him, but this was family: this was important. “You’re making me feel underdressed,”  
“This is about as understated as I’ve ever seen him, Ma,” Carole chuckled.  
“I see, I suppose I’ll just have to get used to being upstaged, eh Kurt?” She winked at him and Kurt wasn’t really sure why. Still, he supposed it might count as a compliment.  
“Thanks, Mrs…” and then he realised he didn’t know her surname.  
She chuckled again. Kurt wondered if she had any setting besides cheerful. “You can call me Grandma Betty, dear,” And, since he had nothing else to call her, Kurt was forced to accept that. “Oh!” She clapped her hands together excitedly, “I almost forgot the gifts,” She turned away from Kurt to rummage through her large bag, eventually procuring two wrapped parcels. She handed the small, solid one to Kurt and the larger, softer one to Finn.  
Finn thanked her profusely after unwrapping his football shirt, holding it up in front of himself with a bright grin on his face. It made Kurt a little nervous. He wondered what she possibly could have given him. He really hoped it was nothing similar.

  
“Are you going to open it, dear?” She looked so expectant and excited that Kurt didn’t think he could put it off any longer in good conscience. He tore off the wrapping paper hesitantly, eyeing the floor by Finn’s feet with a slight sense of dismay as he made sure he didn’t drop a single scrap. Underneath the paper there was a little black box. She looked even more excited once the paper was gone, perhaps beginning to verge on apprehensive, so he carefully pulled the lid back.

It was a ring.

A simple silver band with delicately engraved songbirds on it. It was pretty, classic, subtle. He liked it. He liked it a lot. Without really realising it, He started grinning down at the little box and his dad was peering over his shoulder, scrutinising Kurt’s reaction more so than the gift.  
“I love it,” He told Finn’s nan. Her own grin widened.  
“It matches your shirt,” She told him. She wasn’t wrong. “Just try it on for me? See that it fits?” And, when he tried it on his right ring finger, it did; like a glove. She looked almost relieved. It was almost comforting to know he wasn’t the only one who was a little ill at ease.

Betty complimented Kurt’s cooking as soon as she had swallowed her first bite. He couldn’t tell whether it was just her being polite or if it was genuine, but he accepted it with grace either way; she definitely looked like she was enjoying her brunch.  
“You could teach Finn,” She gestured at him across the table with her fork and Finn turned bright red in the seat next to him.  
“No!” Carole responded so quickly it may have been an instinct, “No he cannot. That ship has sailed and I like this kitchen without burn marks on the ceiling,”  
“There’s a story there,” Kurt turned to Finn hoping for an explanation.  
Finn’s response was just simply, “No comment,”  
“You boys get along well don’t you,” Betty smiled and tilted her head to one side. Kurt could definitely see some of her mannerisms in Carole. “I know back in my old teaching days the boys like my Finn weren’t too fond of your sort,” And there it was. The table went silent and there was a palpable awkwardness hanging over them. She had hit closer to home than she could know and had done so with about as much grace and tact as an elephant on stilts. Betty definitely became aware of it. “Oh! I don’t mean anything by that, dear. I’ve always loved your sort; we used to call them crazy old bachelors back in my day you know,” She chuckled and it felt like some of the warmth was seeping back into the room as everyone released a breath.  
“Mum,” Carole warned, “You can’t call them his sort. That’s insensitive,” And, yeah, it was. But Kurt didn’t think he minded. He could put up with insensitive but well intentioned, it wasn’t like he had never done it before. He’d heard worse. A lot worse.

Finn shuffled into the kitchen with the dirty dishes once they had finished their meal. The adults were still sitting around the table, leaning back in their chairs with full stomachs and half-lidded, tired eyes. Kurt was next to him with the glasses. He was going to make everyone a tea. Finn was going to try to sneak extra sugar into his in order to avoid Kurt giving him that look. He was also going to get caught. That was just how it worked.  
But when they were in the kitchen, they heard a smash.  
It was a horrible, crashing sound, punctuated by the sharp intakes of breath and gasps.  
“Kurt,” Burt called, he sounded resigned and angry rather than surprised. Finn didn’t know what was going on but Kurt’s eyes went dark and his face fell. “Get the stuff,” and he disappeared, not making any sort of haste.

  
“What’s happening?” Finn ran into the other room. There were smashed shards of glass on the floor, a brick sitting in the middle of them. Burt was seething, Carole looked shocked but seemingly knew better than to start pressing at that moment, Betty was standing with her chair on the floor by her feet, hands clasped over her heart and eyes popping out of her head. Kurt came back with a bunch of wooden planks and a toolbox. Burt got started on boarding up the broken window as everyone that wasn’t Kurt stared on in shock.  
“It hasn’t happened since we’ve lived here,” Kurt wasn’t speaking to anyone really, but everyone was listening, “I thought maybe it just wouldn’t happen anymore. God, how stupid?”  
“You told me about this,” Finn bent down to pick up the brick and was unsurprised to find what he did scrawled across one side of it in uneven red letters. “I’m gonna go after them,” He decided.  
“Don’t,” Kurt and his dad said at the same time.  
“It won’t work,” Kurt told him, “and what would you even do if you caught them?”  
“Get them to pay to have the window fixed? Make them clean up their mess? Report them to the police?” Finn said like it was all obvious. It was all obvious. At least to him.  
“I’ve tried it all already, Finn,” Burt didn’t turn around to speak, “it doesn’t do anything. They’ll get away and we’ll never get to know who did it this time, we’ll call the police and they won’t be able to do anything. We’ll clean up the mess ourselves and we’ll pay out of our own pockets to get the window fixed,”  
“Then be a dear, Finn,” Betty spoke again after a long stretch of silence, “And fetch me a dustpan and brush,”  
“No Mum,” Carole insisted, “You have a bad hip, You aren’t kneeling on the floor to clean up the glass. I’ll do it,”  
“I will,” Kurt said. Finn could see how he was gritting his teeth. “This is my fault anyway,”  
“That’s bullshit,” Betty told him sternly. Finn was taken aback. He cast an arm around Kurt and drew him into a hug even though he’d probably insist he didn’t want or need it afterwards. Regardless, Kurt breathed in deeply and leant his head against Finn’s chest. Betty and Carole joined them and Burt wasn’t about to be left out.

  
“This is ridiculous,” Kurt decided when he was wrapped in other peoples arms, “You’re all such drama queens,”  
“Hypocrite,” Finn mumbled. Rachel had taught him that word the other week and it seemed awfully fitting.  
“This is standard-”  
“Nope,” Finn cut in.  
“You’re not allowed to say it,” Carole told him. Burt just shook his head.  
“Say what?” Betty asked, not really expecting an answer but feeling awfully out of the loop.  
Kurt sighed. “Nothing, Grandma Betty,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not American. Americans call their grandparents weird things. That aside, I love Carole, Carole's a really nice lady so I figure it might make sense if she was raised by a really nice lady.


	4. Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry to have disappeared for so long but I've been having some problems and this chapter honestly comes from a lot of projecting. It isn't a happy chapter (sorry) and none of this is advice please do not read it as such. I think I need to put a TW here for SH (you can skip this chapter and it won't affect your ability to read on in the future, if you need to skip please just do it). There's nothing graphic or even really much at all but I really don't want to take any chances because these problems fucking suck and I know that all too well. I'm hoping everybody is well and this chapter isn't too poorly written or too much of a downer but I just couldn't get myself to write the usual sort of chapter. I'm thinking of focusing the next one on Finn a bit more so if anyone has any ideas on how they'd like to see me do that (or any other ideas they'd like to see) please let me know and I might get around to it.

* * *

Finn knew he would never be able to understand Kurt. It wasn’t a particularly difficult fact for him to accept--as far as he was concerned there was no difference between the colours eggshell and cream and both were just pedantic ways of describing white anyway, and he was fine with that. He knew he’d never understand why every single item of clothing Kurt owned seemed to have its own list of washing instructions or why that mattered. He’d never be able to grasp the French Kurt was able to spout off, hell he missed a lot of the English words that Kurt used.

But that wasn’t to say he couldn’t tell when something was off with Kurt.

Finn didn’t understand why, when Kurt breezed around the kitchen bumping his hips into every surface at their height just like everybody else did, he winced through sharp, hissing intakes of breath. He didn’t understand why Kurt’s eyes followed him warily if he drew too near to a specific surface in Kurt’s bedroom. He didn’t understand why Kurt squeezed his eyes shut and looked as if he were steeling himself every time he sat down. But he did understand it wasn’t right.  


* * *

  
Finn had taken to keeping a close eye on Kurt because he wanted to know there was an actual problem before he told on his brother to anybody else. Kurt was always a bit of an anomaly amongst his peers after gym class but that was something Finn could rationalise. Kurt never changed when everybody else did; he stood steadfast and stony-faced in the corner of the room, eyes fixed on the wall like the second they drifted away something terrible would happen. This wasn’t unusual for him and Finn was so used to ignoring this behaviour that it hadn’t ever really considered the reason behind it before.  
Finn decided on one particular day that he was going to make sure Kurt was okay after gym class. So, as Finn’s friends ushered for him to leave alongside them, he just simply waved them off and headed towards Kurt’s corner. He didn’t miss the way that Kurt’s eyes trailed around the room like they were surveying it as the bell began to ring. The look in those eyes became startled when they landed on Finn still standing there. Kurt’s hands moved away from the hem at the bottom of his shirt a little too quickly and he turned on his heel to face his stepbrother, standing in the middle of the room.

“Why are you still here?” Finn had had enough conversations with Kurt to know that, in spite of the softness of his voice, Kurt’s tone could often come across as biting or unfriendly when he didn’t mean it to. But this wasn’t that. He sounded… surprised? Maybe a little put-off.  
“It’s last period and we’re going home together--why not?”  
“I always drive you home and you’ve never felt the need to wait in the locker room before,” Kurt cocked an eyebrow and placed his hands gingerly on his hips, left hand significantly lower than the right one.  
“And I’ve decided that was a little bit shitty of me,”  
“Not really,” Finn didn’t miss how pale Kurt’s face was turning or the apprehension prickling in his eyes. “I like having the locker room to myself and you like talking to your friends for the ten minutes it takes for me to get dressed,” Finn decided he wasn’t going to point out how severely Kurt had low-balled that number  
“I like talking to you too,”  
“That’s very sweet of you but please, go talk to your friends for a moment, my phone is buzzing,” Finn couldn’t hear it but Kurt was pawing at his pocket as though he could feel it. Shrugging as he conceded, Finn left the locker room.  
As he left, Finn peeked into the room through a crack between the door and the frame. Kurt did pull his phone out of his pocket but he didn’t lift it to his ear, rather just placing it on the bench in front of him after slumping slightly as he let out what looked to be a sigh of relief. Concern level rising, Finn stored the information for later and moved away and into the car park before Kurt started to actually change.

* * *

Finn knew that Kurt always seemed very on edge whenever Finn or anybody else approached the chest of drawers on the far side of his bedroom. If it were just himself and Burt, Finn might accept the assumption that Kurt was just nervous that they would mess up the belongings lined up on top of it or their organisation in some way or another.   
But it wasn’t a reaction reserved for just Finn and Burt. Kurt acted essentially identically when Rachel and Mercedes and Carol approached the chest of drawers, even occasionally springing to his feet and rushing over to physically block the offending person’s path. Kurt’s eyes always seemed to be ablaze when it happened, but not in a pissed off “don’t touch my shit” way, more like a terrified “don’t look any closer” way. Finn needed to know what he was hiding.

Kurt wasn’t home that day after school. Finn had had to make his own way home on foot because Kurt had left on an after-school coffee date with Blaine. Ordinarily, Finn would grumble and complain the whole lonely walk home but not actually really care about much beyond the fact it would take him that much longer to actually get to the house. This time he didn’t even bother doing that much; he knew it wasn’t really the right thing to do but it gave him a chance to scour the chest of drawers to find whatever it was that Kurt was hiding.  
He took his shoes off in the house’s entryway, leaving them somewhat haphazardly right beside where Kurt’s shoes were lined up much more neatly in an actual line, before beelining directly to Kurt’s bedroom without even the usual initial detour to the kitchen.

The rug on Kurt’s floor was soft and Finn wasted a moment just standing on it and enjoying that before remembering to recomense the task at hand. The first thing he did was open each of the drawers one by one, sequentially from top to bottom. He rifled through the neatly organised, paired, folded (etc.) socks, underwear, undershirts, and pyjamas, constantly careful not to too greatly disturb them so he might be able to move them back into space correctly and not leave any evidence of his snooping. There didn’t seem to be anything amiss in the drawers. Finn’s caution had caused the seemingly simple task to take a pretty substantial chunk of time. He sped up his ministrations as he stood up to examine the belongings neatly laid out and lined up across the top of the unit.  
There were a few picture frames lined up, ones with photos of Kurt and his girls, their family, Kurt and Blaine, a picture of just Blaine with a hat and scarf covering his hair and the top of his coat, take-away coffee cup in hand and face schooled into a handsome grin, somewhat comedically marred by the mustache the residue from the cup had formed. Finn didn’t know what he was looking for so he figured that the backs of the frames weren’t the most nonsensical place to check.  
He didn’t find anything in the frames or anywhere else he could think to look. The last unchecked possibility he had left was the little trinket box in the back corner. He reached to open it but was stopped by the sound of a throat pointedly being cleared behind him.

Finn turned quickly, trying his best to look as though he hadn’t just been caught red-handed. Kurt was standing in the doorway, body language screaming frustration and suspicion whereas his features just screamed.  
“Oh, hi Kurt,” Finn’s speech-pattern was oddly staccato, “I’m just looking for… A spare blanket,”  
“Wicker basket under the bed,” Kurt still sounded both harsh and worryingly withdrawn. Finn couldn’t shake the feeling that he had been so close on the edge of finding something but still could see no real conceivable option besides stalking over to the bed and taking a blanket he really didn’t need back to his own room. The moment Finn left the door was shut firmly behind him. He lingered in the hallway for just a moment more, only long enough to hear the bolt of the lock click as it slid closed.

* * *

Blaine was the first (and only) other person to bring up Kurt’s concerning behaviour with Finn. He had called Finn ( which was an odd occurrence in and off itself) and then asked to meet up with him rather than use him as a middleman by which to meet Kurt were his own phone dead or lost (which was even more odd and rare). Immediately Finn was struck with the sense that he must know something.

He met Blaine by the slightly rundown fountain in the park almost nobody ever thought to visit. Blaine was looking down at his hands, nursing an iced coffee and occasionally picking at a loose thread on the hem of his t-shirt sleeve. Finn approached him, hoping his own body language wasn’t quite so obvious but knowing it was a largely futile hope.  
“Have you noticed something up with Kurt?” Blaine said almost immediately following a kurt greeting. Finn nodded and Blaine sighed, “He just seems so jumpy and more reserved about things than he has been since we first started dating,” Finn spent a moment considering what Blaine meant by that but realised before too long. He knitted his eyebrows together.  
“He winces a lot--like he does when I say things I shouldn’t but he’s doing it when I haven’t even said anything,”  
Blaine nodded slowly, “Like when he bumps into things,”  
“Or sits down,”  
“Or stretches,”  
“Or dances,”  
It was Blaine’s turn to knit his eyebrows together. Within the space of a few seconds Finn watched his expression go on a rather sporadic journey from confusion to concern to disbelief, back to concern, and then finally to worry.  
“I’m sorry,” Blaine clambered to his feet, looking about as far from put together as Finn had ever seen him, “I really need to go I need to make sure it’s not…”  
And, God, did Finn wish he’d just finish that sentence: he wasn’t a complete idiot and he could tell that something was up but there was something in his brain that just wouldn’t click. It seemed like it had clicked in Blaine’s though, but he was gone before Finn could ask him what it was.

* * *

In spite of all of his efforts, when Finn finally found out what was wrong it was an accident.

Kurt must have forgotten to lock his door and whenever Finn was able to open it he figured that was just non-verbal confirmation he was being permitted to do so. His mum had sent him upstairs to tell Kurt dinner was going to be ready in about five minutes so he should head down. Finn was planning on doing exactly that; only something more important quickly overtook the space in his brain he was using to store that information.  
Finn used his hip to nudge the bedroom door open and was pretty surprised to see that Kurt was changing into more comfortable clothes but hadn’t thought to slide the lock closed. His trousers (which were definitely Blaine’s because there was no way in hell Kurt Hummel would be caught dead purchasing sweatpants) were sitting somewhat low on his hips, drawstring untied, and his t-shirt was in hand rather than being worn.

At first there wasn’t really anything wrong with the scene but Finn saw them a moment before Kurt unfroze and moved the fabric in hand to cover the spot on his hip Finn couldn’t look away from.  
“Get the fuck out,” Kurt hissed. His body remained hunched and he didn’t move his arm .  
“What the fuck Dude,” Finn breathed. Kurt grit his teeth and insisted again that Finn needed to get out but he wasn’t willing to budge. Instead, Finn took a step further into the room, closing the door behind him and slipping the lock. “Move your arm,” Finn was trying to keep his voice and gestures calm and level like Rachel kept insisting he needed to do when she was freaking out about something inconsequential or other and he was too heavy handed to successfully calm her down.  
“No,”  
“I’ve already seen it,”  
“You didn’t see shit,” Kurt didn’t usually swear like that and he looked more like some scared, caged prey animal than himself.  
“Kurt,” Finn stared down at him, trying to look both welcoming and stern in that specific way Burt had perfected but Finn had never before had a reason to try to figure out. It seemed like it worked somewhat. The t-shirt was moved away from Kurt’s hip and Finn was able to see the stark red of the parallel lines on the alabaster of Kurt’s skin. There was an odd urge for him to reach out and trace his fingers over them but Kurt had pulled the shirt on before Finn got the chance to act on it, That was probably for the best.

They both perched on the edge of Kurt’s bed, Kurt looking ready to up and run at the drop of a hat whilst Finn was trying to make sure he could intercept Kurt if such an instance were to occur.  
“Why?” Was the first real question he could remember asking once he cleared his thoughts enough to think of anything but the image of broken skin.  
Kurt shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal and Finn felt momentarily ill, “Control, mostly, I guess,”  
Finn didn’t press much further at that moment, he could ask later. “Is this why you got so weird about the chest of drawers?” Kurt just deflated and Finn was bright enough and familiar enough with his brother to interpret that as a yes. “Throw it out,” Finn insisted without much hesitation.  
It was Kurt’s turn to ask a question. “Why?”  
Finn felt like that was obvious. “You can’t hurt yourself with it if you don’t have it,”  
Kurt laughed but it wasn’t humorous. It was hollow and echoey and so not Kurt’s laugh. “Doesn’t mean I can’t hurt myself with anything else--even if you take everything else I could possibly use away, I still have nails,”  
“God,” There was a beat of silence, “This is a really serious problem,”  
Kurt raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips as if to say you don’t say. “Come on,” he said after another moment, “we still need to go to dinner,”  
“We need to finish this conversation,”  
“We can do that later--please don’t tell dad and Carole,”  
“But... I need to…” Finn wasn’t sure what else he could do so he just waved his hands in the air listlessly and felt himself falling further and further out of control.  
“Please, just please. Not yet. Blaine’s going to break up with me and they’re not going to like me or be proud of me or anything anymore and I just--” He sighed but Finn was holding his breath, “I just can’t deal with all of that at once,”  
“Blaine won’t break up with you--he’s worried too you know--and Burt and Mum love you. They’ll be worried but everyone still loves you,”  
“You say that now,” Kurt scoffed.  
“I’ll stand by it,” Finn insisted, “But I won’t tell them yet,”  
“Thank you,” Kurt sounded exhausted.

* * *

Following a quick, over-the-phone discussion with Blaine, the two of them decided what they needed to do. They both felt horribly out of their depth and neither had ever received any sort of guidance on what to do when in that sort of situation.  
But that didn’t mean they didn’t know somebody that had. They were being as nice and as supportive and as helpful as they were able but for the time being they needed some actual help.  
Side by side, Kurt tucked unsurely between them, looking as on edge as Finn figured a person could, they walked into Ms. Pillsbury’s office.


	5. Baking

“You know,” Kurt said flatly, looking up from the pages of the recipe book he was leafing through “You could definitely do at least this step by yourself,”  
Finn looked up from the muddled Rubik's Cube in his hands like a deer in the headlights “Well… But, Um… I plead the fifth?”  
Kurt shook his head, “You know I’m meant to be helping you, not doing this for you?”  
“In my defense, when I said “Can you help me make Rachel a birthday cake” I kinda assumed you knew I was asking you to do it for me,”  
“I did, honestly,” Kurt looked down and continued rifling through the pages for a moment more. The TV was playing on mute, some edition of Real Housewives or another that Finn had interrupted but Kurt didn’t care about enough to pause. The silence in the room was filled only with the occasional clicks of the Rubik’s cube Finn had gotten no closer to solving in the ten minutes he had been working on it. “What do you think of this one?” He reached over Finn’s legs (his feet were resting on a cushion on Kurt’s lap and Kurt didn’t mind enough to push them away) to hand him the hardback book, opened to the right page.  
“Looks good,” Finn nodded. It was a lemon cake, the sort of thing he could feasibly do by himself maybe, completely vegan and simple enough to be customisable without being (too) tacky or out-of-place. “Do we have all of this?”  
“Oh absolutely not,” Kurt grinned “But that’s basically just an excuse to go to the grocery store,”  
“Why is that exciting to you?”  
“Blaine and I may or may not have eaten all of the ice cream when we were watching Project Runway yesterday and I need to replace it before Carole notices,”  
“Am I a bad influence?”  
“Fuck off and go put some shoes on--and a jacket, it gets chilly in the freezer aisle,”  
“Yessir,” Finn disappeared up the stairs with a salute and Kurt began to lace his docs by the door.

* * *

  
“Okay, I made a list of things we need on my phone whilst you were looking for your jacket,” Kurt sent Finn a look, “and we’ll get the ice cream last so it doesn’t melt, alright?”  
“Sounds good,” Finn replied. Kurt nodded and led them into a refrigerated aisle, pulling the chunky knit cardigan tighter around himself as he did. Finn reached his hands into the pockets of his letterman jacket and pulled out the still unfinished Rubik’s Cube. Kurt sent him a backwards glance.  
“You were closer to finishing that earlier,”  
“Really?”  
Kurt nodded, “Those things are algorithmic, Blaine’s really good at them and he was teaching me yesterday,”  
“I thought you were watching that show?”  
“Oh I’m sorry, do you want an itemised list of everything we do?” and something about the grin on Kurt’s face told Finn the answer was definitely no. He shook his head and the grin widened and turned into a giggle. He got a sideways look from an old woman and decided to think it was just because he was being too loud and nothing else.  
“Are you done laughing next to the carrots?”  
“Yes--you’re right next to the lemons, grab a few we could do with some spares,”  
“Done,” Finn looked to the side and then back at Kurt “And could we get some donuts too?”  
“Is that how I’m going to keep you quiet about the ice cream?”  
“I mean, I’m sure Mum won’t mind, but if that’ll make you get the donuts, sure,”

They bumped into Rachel’s dads in the bakery section. The men greeted them both with a smile and a handshake that the boys returned in kind.  
“What are you boys doing here today?” Hiram asked them, welcoming smile remaining fixed thoroughly in place.  
“You have to promise not to tell Rachel,” Finn began immediately whilst Kurt shook his head--the Berrys would definitely get the concept of a surprise without Finn explaining it to them. “But I’m baking her a birthday cake,”  
“That’s nice,” LeRoy told him whilst Hiram sent him a knowing look.  
“You’re baking it?” he asked, already knowing the answer.  
“Kurt’s helping,” Finn amended. The Berrys chuckled.  
“Well best of luck,” LeRoy told them and they lift with cookies in hand. Finn grabbed a pack of chocolate iced donuts and walked in the other direction.

* * *

  
“Get a couple of mixing bowls, electric whisk, sieve and cake tin out of that cupboard. The baking paper is in the same drawer as the candy stash you think I don’t know about. I’ll get the ingredients out,”  
“If you know about my stash, why is it intact?”  
“I have the decency to replace the sweets I steal, you should know this by now,”  
“I’m learning things about you this weekend,”  
“We’ve lived together for months, you should know this by now,”  
“You hide these things,”  
“Or maybe you just don’t pay attention,”

“Can you sieve the flour please Finn?”  
“Probably?”   
“That doesn’t make me incredibly confident,” Finn shrugged his flannel off and threw it on the back of a chair, Kurt watched it fall with disdain, eyeing his cardigan neatly hung up by the door and his dress-shirt sleeves folded cleanly up to his elbows. “It’s hardly rocket science, Finn,” Finn tipped the paper bag and poured the flour from too high up. It immediately filled the air, making it white and powdery and making Finn cough into his elbow.  
“There has to be a better way to do that,” Finn said.  
“There is,”   
“And you’re not going to tell me what that is?”  
“I don’t think there’s much point anymore,”  
“Oi!” And, without really giving any thought to it, Finn threw a handful of flour at Kurt. he squealed as it covered his face, hair, and the collar of his charcoal shirt.  
“Finn!” Finn reflexively threw his arms in front of his face but he wasn’t fast enough to stop the cloud of flour from filling his mouth and eyes and covering his upper body. He spluttered and moved his arms and the wooden spoon with remnants of creamed sugar and (fake) butter was swiped across his cheek with playful, mock malice.  
Instead of reaching for more food to throw over his step-brother, Finn just dived towards Kurt’s middle, mixing play-fighting and tickle-fighting as he forced Kurt into the cabinet, doubled over and laughing as he tried to protest in mock anger.

When Carole and Burt got home the kitchen was a mess and Kurt and Finn were play-fighting on the floor in the middle of the kitchen where a cake had magically managed to find its way into the oven, fully formed in spite of the surroundings. They were parents so it made a lot of sense for them to berate them, half-joking. But they were also parents of a mixed family that had suffered rocky beginnings with stressful lives: they joined in.

* * *

  
Finn and Kurt had left the cake cooling on a wire rack in the kitchen overnight because the time they spent food fighting had basically cost them all of Saturday night. Kurt was, as usual, the first awake in the morning so he pulled the curtains open and cracked the window open a little. The sunlight was yellow and ever so slightly cool. The bushes beneath the window filled the room with a soft floral smell that accentuated that of the cake. He put a pot of coffee on and gathered the ingredients for the icing quickly, figuring he would make everything so when Finn came down they could go straight to decorating the cake.  
The icing was done and he was sipping slowly on a floral mug of black coffee that had been his mum’s eons ago and hadn’t touched anything aside from green tea until he turned fourteen. Finn walked blearily down the stairs, clumsy lankiness only accentuated by the lingering sleep that weighed him down. He wasn’t wearing slippers and his socks had a hole at the toe that meant Kurt was itching, above all else, to throw the things away. Or burn them. He was pretty sure they hadn’t always been grey.

“Are we doing white icing and coloured accents?”  
“And writing,” Finn yawned and reached for the milk he tipped into his coffee before grabbing at the sugar.  
“Right,” Kurt didn’t love that. He thought it was kind of tacky. But this was Finn’s gift and he wasn’t going to outwardly police it, he’d just quietly sizzle with mild disapproval. He shook his head and his hair, sleep mussed, fell into his eyes, “What colour are you thinking?”  
“I don’t know, purple?”  
“Okay, get started on icing the cake while I look for the food colouring. Be careful not to be too rough because we don't want this falling apart but it is a relatively difficult step to completely mess up,”  
“Nice to know,” Finn picked up the icing-ladled rubber spatula in the bowl and started scraping it gently against the two layers of sponge.

* * *

  
When Finn presented Rachel with the cake with the symmetrical, pastel, purple rosettes of icing and Happy Birthday Rachel in neat, looping calligraphy that Finn had convinced Kurt to do in his stead, finished with the wobbly, uneven heart Kurt had insisted he draw himself, she smiled. Then she stuttered. Then she threw her arms around him, giving him barely enough time to move the cake aside so it didn’t get crushed.


End file.
